


old-school sitter

by Darkfromday



Series: Harry Potter's Birthdays (Canon-Averse) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore is enchanted, Gen, Harry Potter's Birthday, Harry is the sweetest toddler, Lily Evans: dread of Death Eaters by day; best mum ever by night, Parental Albus Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-07-29 13:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkfromday/pseuds/Darkfromday
Summary: "Lily, what the bloody hell areyoudoing here?! Where's Dumbledore?"Lily looks sheepish. "Well... look, he's on a more important mission right now..."OR:James has an important mission for the Order and Lily refuses to stay home. Dumbledore ends up babysitting one-year-old Harry Potter for an evening instead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dumbledore turned 100 the month after Harry celebrated his first birthday, did you know?
> 
> ...Eh, y'all probably did and I'm just the one who lays awake at night making up non-canon scenes like this.

_August 02, 1981_

"Food's in the fridge for both of you. I've also got a permanent Tracking Charm on Harry's favorite blanket since he lays it down and loses it all the time—what else, what else? Ah, er, he knows quite a few phrases already, but if you can't figure out what he's on about I've left a picture book somewhere that has pictures he can point to—"

"Lily, breathe," Albus Dumbledore advises.

He is relieved when she obeys without arguing, and gets some much-needed color and breath back. Motherhood under the banner of war has added several extra lines to the heart-shaped face of Lily Potter née Evans, and it would be a shame to grant her any more when her concern in this case is unnecessary.

"Though generally my charges are a little older, I do have pleasant memories of watching my younger siblings long before your time. Harry will be fine."

"Oh, I know, and I _do_ trust you implicitly, Headmaster, it's just—anything could happen. I can't help but worry."

Albus lifts one eyebrow. "If you prefer, I can send Dorcas on this mission with James and myself so you might remain here. As you are aware, my original intention was only to relay your husband's message; it was you who asked to switch duties with me."

"I'd rather be there myself. I'm still on top of Charms and Ancient Runes; getting us in the manor with stealth will be a breeze. No offense, but you... tend to attract attention."

"I, attract attention?" But there's solemn acknowledgement under his playful words. She's right, after all; whether with his wardrobe or his power, Dumbledore is guaranteed a flashy, "warm" reception any time he shows up to assist his Order of the Phoenix. Sometimes that even warrants Voldemort slipping away from wherever he's currently sequestered to do battle with his old headmaster—more than enough to make even the most bloodthirsty of the Dark Lord's followers run for cover. That makes his participation in missions to arrest known Death Eaters (outside of pitched battles) nearly impossible.

Lily's chuckle is gentle and gratifying. Her eyes shine as she pockets her willow wand. "I really appreciate this. It's been so long since I've been out of the house, helping with the Order."

"A fact which no one begrudges you, I assure you. As long as your family has Lord Voldemort's attention, your safety is paramount."

"We don't want for safety in this lovely town. Especially with the Fidelius covering our backs." Lily's smile fades. "Still—I can't help but miss apprehending Death Eaters."

"Fewer missions is a worthy trade for your lives," Albus insists—then changes the subject. "Tell me about Harry. Is he adjusting well after the move here? Is there anything I need to know while I look after him?"

"Oh, he's had a very good attitude about his new home! You should be fine as long as you don't allow him to get your wand or wander off—he's just as mischievous as James and Sirius."

The mental image a baby James or Sirius getting hold of the Elder Wand makes him chuckle. "I will be sure to stay on my toes."

"Great! I shouldn't take longer than two or three hours—and I'll send my Patronus if I'm held up."

Albus waves his hand, unconcerned. Even an hour away from the school and the public places-turned-battlefields is a welcome break. And it _is_ such a fine Sunday evening, cool and still, perfect for settling down in a chair somewhere and entertaining a child.

"Will you excuse me a moment?" Lily asks. She briefly dismisses herself when he nods, exiting the sitting room and calling kindly but firmly for her son. "Harry? Where are you, dear? Mummy's getting ready to go."

The headmaster hums to himself while he waits. The Potters' safe house smells faintly of lemon verbena, enough to remind him of a sweet he stumbled across and is eager to try again. The magic of being a wizard (or witch) means that it takes little time to move into a new home and make it feel "lived-in", so for all that Voldemort's potential wrath chased them here, no average observer might guess that Lily, James and Harry had ever lived anywhere else. The couch-cushions are Gryffindor-scarlet and well used; plenty of moving pictures adorn the (Floo-blocked) fireplace; and a handful of stuffed animal toys are spread across the floor, waiting for their owner's return. It is quiet and soothing—the epitome of a happy home nestled in the chaos of wartime.

His lips quirk in a wistful smile as he takes it all in. _Perhaps, in another life..._

A flicker of red catches his attention and breaks his thoughts. Lily has returned, with her messy-haired quarry in tow.

"I'm back! Harry, say hello. You remember Professor Dumbledore, don't you?"

Albus glances down and is instantly met with bright green eyes and a wide, gap-toothed smile. He is immediately delighted.

"Pwofessor!"

"Hello, Harry," he says cheerfully. His eyes twinkle at the toddler's attempt at titling him properly. "Are you having a good day?"

"Yes!"

"That is wonderful to hear indeed."

Lily smooths Harry's hair down and sets him on the tall nearby ottoman; when he blinks up at her and lifts his arms, she smiles. "Not now, Harry. The Professor will be looking after you for a little while while Mummy goes out. I need you to be the best little boy in town for me. Stay inside and don't mess with any wands, okay?"

Harry nibbles on his lip (as best he can with so few teeth). Clearly he's considering this schedule shift and whether or not he approves of it. When he looks Albus' way, the headmaster favors him with another smile in the hopes of dispelling any tears or tantrums—and from the way he nods and smiles brightly back, it seems to work. "Okay."

"Great! In that case, I'm off—"

Lily pecks Harry's forehead swiftly but gently, and holds her hand out for Albus to shake. While doing so, he pins her in place with his gaze for an extra moment. "Keep yourself safe. Stay alert. If Voldemort arrives—"

"I'll send you my doe and come straight home with James; I promise. See you soon, Headmaster."

"And you."

She's out the door and retreating down the walk a few seconds later. Albus stands at the window and watches until he sees the tail of her red hair turn and vanish with the rest of her, then he releases the curtain and crouches next to the ottoman to catch his new charge's attention. And just in time, too—Harry is watching the swinging curtain with dawning comprehension, the beginning of a frown.

"Well, Harry, it is just the two of us now. You may be barred from a wand, but I am sure your mother wouldn't mind if you saw some magic."

Just as he hopes, the last word puts a curious sparkle in the toddler's eyes.

"What do you think?" he asks merrily, waving his hand at some of the stuffed toys at Harry's feet. Blue sparks enter each one, a prelude to the trickier animation to come. "Shall I put on a show?"

Harry claps his hands with obvious delight and chants, "Yes, yes, yes!"

The first hour is gone before Albus thinks or cares to look for it.

He ensnares Harry's focus by animating the well-worn stuffed dog, rat, stag and wolf toys strewn about the sitting room and making them dance around the ottoman. They're close enough for the little boy to touch, and he seems awed at the way they move without any tiny hands behind them. Any worry about what Harry's mother is up to is muffled by his rapt devotion to a more animal-friendly re-enactment of "The Fountain of Fair Fortune", which according to Lily is his favorite of Beedle's tales. His excited babbles remind Albus that Lily had mentioned a picture book that she used to help decipher some of her son's more incomprehensible phrases, and he summons it to himself with another wave of his hand. Between the book's detailed illustrations, Harry's pointing, and his own considerable intellect, the headmaster gathers that Harry wants to be taught how to make his animals move.

Briefly, he cancels the charm and gives the toddler his full attention. Unlike his students, he cannot afford to leave the youngest Potter to his own devices. Eye contact and a measured, unhurried tone have so far served him well in keeping Harry calm and entertained. "Would you like to know what spells I am using, Harry?"

"Move," the boy replies, prodding the wolf. His eyes are bright and wide and earnest. "Pwofessor, me move. Please?"

"I'm afraid you cannot move things on your own just yet. To do that, you will need one of these—" And he produces his wand from inside his sleeve. The Deathstick hums within his fingers, dissatisfied with wandless tricks for small children, but he ignores its tempting whispers and holds it out for Harry to inspect. "It will be some time before you are allowed your own wand, but once you have it, you will be welcome to make as many of your toys chase each other as you desire."

"Ick?" Harry asks. He is frowning again, but this time it is the frown of a child trying to work something out which is far beyond his comprehension—Albus recognizes the pinched look as belonging long ago to his brother Aberforth. "Ick?"

_Ick?_ Albus wonders; is there something suddenly making the wand disgusting or unsatisfying to the boy? _But Harry doesn't seem repulsed or upset_. When he rolls it over and over in his fingers a few times, insight hits: Harry is trying to say _stick_. Of course he has probably seen James' or Lily's wands before seeing Albus', but this may be the first time he has had the time to ask just _why_ the adults around him are holding on to specially-carved wood.

"This 'stick' is a wand," he explains with a patient smile. "It allows me to channel my magic—"

Harry stares blankly at him.

_He is not even thirteen months old_, Albus reminds himself, and tries not to flush with embarrassment or self-scorn in front of a baby. _Of course he will not understand what I mean just yet._

"Ah—this wand helps me move your toys, like so..."

With a flourish, he abandons nonverbal wandless spells and points back at the black dog with his wand. "_Animatum_."

The 'dog's' glassy brown eyes gleam, and his mouth opens in a silent bark as he leaps up to join Harry on the ottoman. The little boy laughs and squirms as the dog pretends to lick his face. Albus' eyes twinkle again at the display.

"Again!" Harry cries, between giggles. He points with one chubby finger at the other animals arranged patiently below him. "An-mate-um. Again!"

"Can you handle another?" A swish, a flick, and the stag leaps up too, nudging Harry with its antlers. His response is to squeal with delight and dodge the plush horns—his reflexes are rather sharp for such a young person. Perhaps he's ticklish, or perhaps it's just how he likes to play.

"Again!"

Albus' own delight at the game causes him to add a third animal to the ones crowding the boy. He forgets for a few blissful moments about balance and being careful, gets caught up in waving his wand thoughtlessly to bring joy and not pain. For once he is not an opponent for bloodthirsty or blood-obsessed foes; he is not defending countless nameless, faceless wizards and Muggles from men and beasts of uncommon power; he is not Transfiguring tea cups into ale mugs for generations of Hogwarts students. For one single evening, he is just an old man creating wonders for a baby boy that could be his own great-grandson, had the Fates been kinder.

_Had I been less of a fool_.

There is a gossamer film over Albus' eyes, altering what he sees when next Harry laughs. Instead of observing a small boy with healthy tufts of black hair pushing at the gray wolf toy and his other two 'attackers' in turn, he sees the boy's short black hair as longer and pale yellow, the round green eyes as smaller, less expressive blue ones. His memory takes over, and suddenly Ariana Dumbledore is there in her younger unmolested years, giggling at her own toys as they're brought to life by their mother. It is 1887 and he and his brother are enchanted by their newest sibling.

_"Abbus!"_ she chirps, as she had back when the letter L was her worst enemy. _"Abbus, again!"_

"Yes," he whispers, and raises his wand with Kendra's favorite spell on his lips—

A yelp makes him flinch, blink twice, then twice more. The film tears: it is 1981, and Harry has cried out.

The stuffed animals which were nuzzling and crowding the baby boy have unintentionally pushed him off the ottoman, setting him up for a nasty fall. Albus moves like the wind, but he is too far away to catch Harry without magic. Even so, he must forego words. He thrusts his wand out, and his brain half-forms _Arresto Momen_—

"Eee!"

Albus halts, mentally and physically. That was not a cry of pain. Harry is no longer falling. In fact he's... bouncing.

Instead of hitting the floor with a thud (and possibly earning blood and bruises), Harry had bounced off what looked like a faint red shield, and he's now moving up and down more slowly as his velocity returns to zero. Surprise has made his eyes even bigger than normal, but the more he bounces without any pain the less likely he looks ready to whimper or cry.

Albus completes his trip anyway, kneeling and gathering the boy in his arms. "Oh, Harry," he breathes, trying to keep his voice even. "Oh, well done, dear boy!"

_Accidental magic_, he thinks, with a sigh of relief. _Unusual in one so young, but not at all unwelcome. Harry rescued himself._

Of course, Harry doesn't understand this at all—not the danger he narrowly avoided or the headmaster's well-concealed concern. Although he babbles pleasantly at being held for a few minutes, and even cuddles closer to the old man's beard, before long he is clamoring to be freed.

"Oh no," Albus tells him. "I'm afraid my old heart won't stop racing until I'm quite certain you're all right, and that does require you staying near me for a little longer."

"Don' wanna," Harry protests. His tiny features are so set and stubborn that Albus chuckles.

"I know you don't want to, Harry. But will you do it for me anyway?"

The little boy frowns some more.

Albus racks his brain for some new way to distract Harry from getting back on the ottoman and putting himself in danger once again. As he does, he doesn't notice the way one of Harry's chubby fingers accidentally brush over the Elder Wand, held loosely in his right hand now that the danger to his temporary charge has passed.

Thus, there is another moment where his mind and body freeze—when Harry's tiny hand closes around his wand and he squeaks excitedly. "Boo!"

"Harry, please let g—" Albus begins, too late. A flash of light too close to his half-moon spectacles makes him wince and squint, and when he dares open his eyes wider again, his long, well-groomed silver beard is... well.

It's blue.

"Harry!" he gasps, and gently but firmly wrests the terrible wand out of the baby's hands. The little boy just claps like he's done the finest magic in the country. "How in the world...?"

_How did he manage this? _The Elder Wand is picky about its master and pickier about its spells. Moreover, Harry is adorable and clearly precocious, but he cannot even _enunciate_. How had the wand sensed his intent...?

"Boo!" Harry repeats, proud of himself. He runs his right hand down Albus' beard like he's petting a small animal. As the shock wears off, Albus can't help but be pleased at the new color and shine of his beard and mustache, even as he knows he must eventually change it back. The shade is deep and rich and defiant, rivaling the auburn he once wore proudly before age and stress leached the color away.

_I really must use a _Finite_ on it. However... it seems to have lifted Harry's spirits_.

Regardless—Lily will do her best to kill him if she comes home to find her son handling a wand, with half the house as blue as Albus' beard.

He takes a deep breath, and with another flick restores Harry's toys to their former positions strewn around the floor, in easy reach. He sits, balancing Harry in his lap, and gently taps the boy's nose with one long finger while holding the wand at a safe distance.

"_You_ have a very particular sense of style," he teases. "I think I'll keep the beard the way it is, for now."

Harry beams.

Albus glances at the moving planets on his watch, and slaps a hand to his mouth in exaggerated fashion. "Goodness me, an hour has passed already! I think we ought to find something else to do for the remaining two, hmm?"

"An-mate-um?"

"Perhaps not that," Albus demurs. His own blue eyes brighten. "Something better instead."

From the way Harry tilts his head, it's clear he can imagine nothing better than having his toys play with him—but Albus has already had a more wonderful idea. Hadn't James crowed at many a meeting about his son's natural affinity for the sky?

"You have a little broom, don't you, Harry?"

Harry's smile is so huge it nearly marches off his face. "Bwoom!"

"Yes, indeed! We might as well put it to good use. How about going for a fly?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Truly magnificent," Albus proclaims happily.

He is, of course, speaking of the tiny but perfectly-balanced broomstick belonging to his charge for the evening, which stands straight and proud in the downstairs closet. Finely-polished cherry wood, a few respectable bristles on the end, and gold engraved letters name it as a _Cleansweep Zero_. There is no doubt that it is a child's model with emphasis on safety (Lily's touch), while also being something perfect for a baby to enjoy. James and Sirius chose their joint present well.

"Well?" he asks brightly as he returns to the living room. "Are you ready for a short test?"

An untidy mop of black hair perks up from where it had been bent over a child's size plate. Harry Potter hasn't stopped smiling since he heard he'd be allowed to fly a little bit this evening—provided he stayed in the backyard and didn't go higher than the top of the fence. He'd barely even pouted when Albus 'encouraged' him to have dinner first, so he wouldn't be flying on an empty stomach.

"Yes!" he chirps, pushing his plate forward. "Done!"

"Hmm..." Dismissing his own empty plate, Albus inspects Harry's with a long, drawn-out hum. He has to sweep his indigo beard out of the way so it won't catch any crumbs; fortunately, the sight makes the impatient little boy giggle, just as it has done each time he's looked over and seen his lingering handiwork. "Yes, fine work. It's a shame you're far too young for me to award points." 

"Pwofessor—wanna fly. Fly now?"

"As soon as I've cleaned you up." A casual flick of his wand sends Harry's plate back to the kitchen too; another summons a nearby napkin to the headmaster's hand, so that he might bring Harry close and clean extra bits of food off his face. _Though I am a touch older than the average baby-sitter, it is best to do these things properly._ Lily must insist on the same after meals, because Harry bears the gentle swipes across his mouth and cheeks with uncommon grace and patience for a one-year-old.

The moment he's done, Albus claps his hands, bringing the broom hopping from the closet to meet them. "Time to go! If you promise not to tell your parents, I shall let you fly your Cleansweep from here into the backyard—how does that sound?"

Harry's excited squeal makes him wince and smile wider at the same time.

"Very well then. Up you go—"

He picks the little boy up, taking extra care when placing him on the hovering Cleansweep Zero. Evidently James or Sirius has already taught Harry how to keep his balance; when Albus lets go Harry doesn't list to one side or frantically wave his arms, or any of the other usual reactions very young children have. He is, in fact, so eager that he and the broom almost take off without their chaperone.

"Go, fly! Wheee!"

Albus chuckles. "Are you ready, Harry?"

"Yes!"

"Well, then—off you go!"

He gives the Cleansweep a careful nudge forward, and it complies: Harry is soaring over the ottoman and past the couch a second later.

_"Wheee!"_

The little boy laughs and cheers, all signs of fear from his near-tumble earlier forgotten. He lifts his hands up for a moment, then hastily fixes them back to the broom with a glance to his sides—from the sheepish look he has while he does it, it's clear that he has been lectured about keeping control of his present many times before. Since he was quick to correct himself, Albus spares him a lecture and simply points his wand at the broom, charming it so that it won't buck Harry off or accelerate too much. _Even taking the Anti-Crash and Height-Limiting safety charms into account, there's no harm in taking extra precautions_.

Sidestepping the rest of the furniture, he keeps pace with Harry, who seems to be a natural flier: he doesn't wobble one bit as he passes through the living room, the kitchen and through the open door into the backyard. The quiet _whoosh_ of the broom isn't at all audible over his shouts and laughter.

"Careful of the fence," Albus says merrily.

"Okay!"

Harry makes one circle around the backyard, then another, keeping well away from the fence which separates his home from his neighbors'. Thanks to the Fidelius, neither of the wizarding families on either side are even aware that the Potters live between them, but Albus cautioned James and Lily against causing any undue suspicion in the others anyway. The spells and charms surrounding hidden secrets are notorious for being almost fantastically vulnerable, whether to a loose-lipped Secret Keeper or to an excess of inexplicable events or catastrophes. Fidelius forces the generally-outgoing Potters to live very insular lives—it is both blessing and curse.

Albus' thoughts travel in circles too as he watches Harry enjoy himself. He himself never had much interest in Quidditch or flying as a boy—his adrenaline always being sourced from more scholarly pursuits—but the games had become a fine distraction after Ariana's passing. He'd considered for the first time how freeing it might feel to leave one's problems behind on the ground. The idea still appeals to him today, but between opposing Lord Voldemort and running his school Albus has little time to devote to even _watching_ others fly, let alone partaking. What a world they live in, that a schoolteacher cannot watch his children play without being called to fatally duel some of their parents!

_Enough of that. Positive thoughts._

Perhaps when the children's matches which start in the winter, events permitting, he might watch one game. The first match of the season is typically shortly after Halloween; he can go, and wear neutral colors, and sit next to a Professor that isn't also a Head of House. A fine distraction.

_And speaking of distractions_...

Albus looks up sharply, and a little guiltily, but Harry is still zooming around the yard at a comfortable height and speed, in no danger at all. In fact, when their gazes meet a mischievous light comes into the little boy's eyes and he soars over to the headmaster, nearly bumping his chest uncomfortably with the tip of the broom as he brings it to a halt.

"Pwofessor!"

"At your service," Albus says pleasantly, sidestepping the broom and bowing as he does.

Harry giggles, then reaches out to poke at his baby-sitter's indigo beard. "Fly with me!"

"Oh, Harry—I don't think I'll fit on your broom."

He expects Harry to whine, but he doesn't. Oh, he pouts a little, but he doesn't seem at all confused by Albus' logic. It makes him amend his thought from earlier: _He is only thirteen months old, but quite bright and perceptive for his age. And a magnet for trouble! We'll need to keep a close eye on him when he's old enough to come to Hogwarts._

The mental image of himself, a century old, falling headfirst over a tiny toy broom meant for a one-year-old is amusing, but the likelihood of the scenario coming true is improbable at best. Still, Albus doesn't like to see Harry looking so disappointed; but fortunately a solution darts quickly into his head.

"How about a present instead, Harry? I've just remembered that I didn't get you anything for your birthday. It was just a few days ago, yes?"

_Gryffindor scores_, he thinks wryly as his plan works wonders—Harry immediately brightens and practically vibrates off the Cleansweep in his eagerness for something new to play with.

"Yes, please!"

_With manners like that, how can I refuse?_ The headmaster closes his eyes after smiling briefly at his charge, the better to concentrate on the particular item he wishes to Conjure. Though it might be easier to simply Transfigure this from something else around them, he hates to think of Harry's unhappiness later on should the spell wear off and return his present to whatever it was before. No—this gift must appeal to the boy's adventurous nature and his constantly-shifting attention; it must be fleeting, but permanent all the same.

_I have just the thing._

Albus opens his eyes and spurs his moody wand to action with the barest flick. With a small _pop_, a tiny golden ball appears in front of Harry's face, hovering on gossamer silver wings, and it flits around him in slow circles as he gasps with curiosity and delight.

"_This_," he announces grandly to his wide-eyed audience, "is a Golden Snitch, a quick little thing you may chase on your broom. It is the most important ball in the game you are learning to play, for anyone who catches one ends the match. But catching one is no easy task! Snitches are light and fast, much like you. Would you like to see how they work?"

Harry nods eagerly—so eagerly his head would roll off his shoulders if it weren't attached.

Nodding back, Albus steps toward the Golden Snitch with one hand extended. The little flying ball darts away across the backyard, settling near a nondescript bunch of bushes. He approaches it again, with more swift steps, and the ball does a quick circle around his fingers and flies back to the other end of the yard near Harry. "Light and fast—you see?" he calls, only to chuckle when he looks up properly and realizes that Harry is once again not where Albus saw him last. Instead, the youngest Potter has zipped after his new present, as fast as his Cleansweep will let him go.

It's immediately clear that this game is better suited for Harry on a broom than it ever was for an old man on his feet. The Snitch tries to duck and weave as it did before, but Harry stays with it as skillfully as any fully-qualified Seeker would. It helps that Albus has Charmed the ball not to reach the unreasonable speeds a game Snitch would, but that doesn't diminish Harry's aptitude for finding it in the slightest. He follows it around a tree, along the wall by the back door, and around Albus himself in dizzying circles in the middle of the yard. His determination is astounding and charming, and Albus cannot help but loudly applaud when the little boy's tiny fingers finally close around the Snitch and he halts his broom, flushed but exhilarated.

"Excellent, Harry! Well done, _very_ well done."

Harry beams. "Do again?"

"Certainly! All you need do is let the Snitch go, and it will fly away from you again until you catch it once more."

This discovery leads to at least five more minutes of Snitch-chasing. The sky shifts from faded blue to navy, and the moon has climbed quite high by the time the game ends. Harry's eyes are shining when he catches the ball for the third time, but he's breathing so hard that Albus feels compelled to stop him, lift him from the broom and check him over—and breathe a relieved sigh when a quick magical examination shows nothing amiss.

"I think that's enough for now, dear boy. It is starting to get dark, and nearly time for you to go to bed."

"But I don't _wanna_..."

Gently Albus runs a hand over the black tufts of hair already expressing themselves wildly on Harry's head. The whine in his throat subsides at once, though the excitement in his eyes has dimmed a little as well.

"Growing boys need rest," he tells Harry kindly. "The Golden Snitch is my gift to you and it isn't going anywhere while you sleep. And the sooner you get to bed, the sooner your mother will return and you'll get to play with it again."

Once again negotiation isn't lost on Harry; he gives his _okay_ after a short pause to review the deal he's been offered. No tears and no tantrum. Watching him snuggle easily into his beard, Albus can't help but think he has gotten off light. There is no doubt in his mind that James spoils this little boy _rotten_.

"Yes, that's it. A bath and then bedtime."

He waves his wand over Harry's head to send the Cleansweep soaring back into the closet in the house. A second wave allows the Snitch to wriggle gently out of Harry's tiny hands and follow the broomstick away. He will leave Lily and James a note about the ball later so they don't worry, but for now—

He freezes, alert, holding the baby a little closer. There has been a tiny _click_ from the front door of the Potters' home.

"I'm home! ...Albus, where are you?"

_Lily._

His shoulders relax as he steps inside, closing the back door behind him—but a flash of curling blue from the corner of his eyes reminds him that he must quickly restore his eye-catching beard to its usual silver or suffer a lot of uncomfortable questions. A quick finger-snap does the job; to the drowsy little boy only he murmurs, "Our little secret."

After announcing himself, they meet in the living room as they did before. Lily Potter sends her coat sailing away, though not before Albus spots a few bloodstains he is too polite to ask about with her son in his arms. Though she has a bandage wrapped carefully around her left arm, she seems otherwise unharmed, and the lack of frowning or scrunched lips tells him that the operation must have gone down without any major hiccups.

"Are you all right?" he asks anyway.

"Yes, I'm fine—everyone is, actually. Just a few bumps and bruises. Mad-Eye _thinks_ he got Rowle, but it was mostly a stalemate otherwise."

"And there was no sign of Lord Voldemort?"

"None."

"An outcome to be celebrated."

"Yes." Lily's eyes scan until they spot her baby nestled into her old headmaster's beard, and their twinkle then rivals some of his best. "I take it Harry behaved himself?"

"Perfectly," Albus confirms, while patting Harry's back. "I'm sure that is mostly _your_ influence, of course."

"_Well_, I wasn't going to say so unless you did first."

He hands Lily her son back with a chuckle, and only the tiniest hesitation. Barring the brief scare earlier in the living room, the evening with Harry has been one of the most peaceful nights he has passed in many years. It felt wonderful to be needed in such an intimate way—to solve simple problems with toys and games, instead of plotting and scheming with spells and lives. The wistful feeling that came over him earlier is back in full force now. And from the sympathetic look that passes briefly over the young mother's face now, it is clear he did not mask his that feeling quickly enough.

"Professor—Albus? I really do appreciate you watching him this evening. And I know he must have liked having you around too, because he _never_ falls asleep this early or easily with anyone else. I'd be happy to have you come by again to look after Harry. —If you're agreeable to it, of course! I know how busy you get."

Albus grants her a nod which hopefully conveys how flattered he is to be considered alongside Sirius and Remus and Peter. "Should my queue of tasks ever die down, I would be just as happy to see Harry again. Perhaps around Christmastime...?"

"That sounds wonderful!" Lily bubbles. She already has a quill out, in fact, and has it wandlessly scribbling the details onto a spare bit of parchment laying on the living room table.

Harry stirs against her shoulder and mumbles something like _Mum-mum__._ She immediately rewards him with a kiss on the forehead and smooths his hair with a practiced hand, promising him a quick trip to the bath and then to the stuffed animals awaiting him in his bed; he's so groggy and worn out that he doesn't even whine about early bedtime as he did outside.

There is a moment when Albus' mind superimposes an old memory of Kendra holding Aberforth over the sight of Lily holding Harry—and that is when he knows it is time to go. "Now that I have seen you safe, I must return to Hogwarts," he says quietly, making her a bow. "I will send James if our paths cross on the way."

Lily sighs. "He'd better not _need_ the push or _he'll_ be on baby-sitting duty until Halloween; he had a five minute head-start out of that mansion!" But her expression melts into a smile; it's clear she can't be upset with her husband for long. She offers him her free hand with a smile, and he shakes it.

"Take care of yourself, Lily. And please tell Harry I said goodbye when he wakes."

"I will."

She is kind enough to walk Albus to the door before taking her son upstairs, so he might wave to them both as he makes his way down the path. The sight of Harry sleeping soundly in Lily's arms is like a warm candle in the dark, and he holds on to it as he turns on his heel in the street and leaves his baby-sitting duties behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the fic and the miniseries~! Thanks for reading. ^^


End file.
